Narcissa's Secret
by sincerelyjaymee
Summary: Take a look inside Narcissa Malfoy's pensieve. What if she didn't elect to be evil? What if she was forced to do Bellatrix's dark bidding because she kept her secret? This collection of stories will dare to change your outlook on Narcissa Malfoy.
1. Introduction

_Author's note: Narcissa Malfoy has always fascinated me. She seems to be one of the most complex, underestimated characters in the series. She is a dark witch, but her ability to love is as strong as Lily Potter's. Maybe she didn't elect to be evil. Maybe she was born into in, and remained in it out of fear..._

Some old Muggle once said, "some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them". Same goes with evil, I suppose. I was born into the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, so as you can see, our egos are naturally inflated. We are one of the largest and eldest pure-blood families in Britain. I am also the youngest of three sisters, so clearly a lot is expected out of me. We are brought up believing that pure-blood wizards are elite and anyone less is scum. Simple as that. It gets imprinted into our brains at birth. Mind you, many Blacks have gone against the pure-blood path and thus have been excommunicated from the family. Why would anyone want to pollute this pure bloodline? Or so I'm told. Take my sister for example, Andromeda. She married a Muggle-born! I don't wish to call them Mudbloods, but if my elder sister, Bellatrix knew that, she'd have my head.

There's no other person in the world I love more than my son, Draco. Ever since he was born, my only objective in life has been to protect him from harm, so naturally the worst day of my life was when Draco came home with a Dark Mark on his forearm, to match his father's. I've done my fair share of bad deeds, but my primary loyalty is to my family. I don't regret lying to the Dark Lord by saying that Potter boy was dead. I'd do it again if I had to. It was my first act of rebellion against the Black legacy and I bear no shame. Well, second, actually. But I choose not to remember the first. Only one other person besides myself knows this secret, and that's Bella. I was young, I was stupid, and I didn't know who else to turn to. She won't let me forget it and I've done a fair share of her bidding because of it.


	2. November 1971

It's my sixth year at Hogwarts. The absence of my two elder sisters watching my every move is quite eerie. I've grown accustomed to it, though. It's November. The leaves on the small, unruly Whomping Willow are turning orange. I'm walking down the corridor toward Charms with a few Syltherin friends, giggling, yes, giggling. There's no dark magic or fear shrouding the halls like Draco's years at Hogwarts. Approaching me, I see my cousin, Sirius, with his gang of immature Gryffindor's. We don't talk much. He thinks I'm a spoiled princess and I think he is a insubordinate fool. _C'est la vie._

"Sirius," I say flatly with a nod.

"Narcissa," he replies, mocking my tone.

"C'mon Sirius, we have flying lessons now!" he friend urges as his cheeks turn an excited hue of red only a Gryffindor is capable of.

I roll my eyes. First years. I pull him aside. "How are you?"

"Why do you care. We don't talk." he sneers.

I shrug. "We're cousins, and as the eldest Black at Hogwarts, it's my job to protect you."

He chuckles. "No seriously, what do you want?"

I sigh. I reply in a hushed tone. "How do you just go against the family like that? I mean, you're just barely twelve. Pretty soon, you're going to be burned from the tapestry. You're next, after my sister, you know." I warn him.

"Why do you care?" he snaps. "You don't have to be such a know-it-all all the time Cissy! I'm not one of you – elitist, pure-blood scum!"

"I'm just looking out for you!" My tone increases. "Muggle lovers don't have the best track record in this family!"

"I don't care! I'm not one of _you_!" He storms off. "Let's go, James." He nudges the friend who spoke earlier.

"What was that about?" my friend asks with concern, gently patting the elbow of my robes.

"Nothing – just nothing." I sigh.

That moment made me realize that maybe Sirius was right. Maybe I was just filling the mold my parents and sisters carved out for me. He wanted nothing to do with it. He chose his own destiny. I would never go against my family. Family's all I've got. I guess he's just braver than I am. Maybe that's why he was put in Gryffindor. He's the first Black brave enough to not be put in Slytherin. He took a stand. He's so headstrong, hot-headed, and fearless. What a lion. Maybe I'm jealous that no one controls him.


	3. July 1996

I am sitting in a grand black leather armchair, gripping the arms with my shaking hands. Beads of sweat trickle down from my brow and my lips are sore from excessive biting. I take a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself down, but nothing works. I know what's to come. It's only a matter of moments before they return, causing fears to become facts and nightmares to become realities. I nervously tap a black pointed heel on the stone floor, trying to distract myself with the echoing clicks.

Suddenly, almost on cue, Lucius and Draco apparate into the room.

"We're back!" Lucius exclaims in a tone that haunts me. His smirk insults me. I refuse to make eye contact with my husband. His pleased expression shows that he doesn't even notice my pain. "Draco, why don't you tell mummy the news? Or better...show her." I'd like to wipe the smirk off of his face, but rather, I squeeze my hands together tightly, silently hoping my jugular won't burst.

With a shaking hand, Draco pulls up his left sleeve, revealing the Dark Lord's mark. I cringe.

"That's my boy." Lucius smiles and clasps his palm on Draco's shoulder.

I try to force a smile, choke out a word or two. But nothing happens.

"Narcissa, dear, what's wrong? I'd think you'd be more, well, proud." Lucius ponders.

"Of course I'm proud of you Draco. I just can't believe today actually came. So soon, at that. You're growing up, Draco." I hold back tears.

"Draco didn't even tell you the best part yet. He's received his first assignment." Lucius gushes with pride.

"What is it dear?" I ask Draco.

"I – err – umm – well –" Draco stutters.

"I'll just tell her," Lucius chimes in. "He's been assigned to kill Dumbledore." He spits out the name.

"You mean _Albus_ Dumbledore?" I cry.

"Of course. The one and only." Lucius replies.

"Lucius, may I speak with you in the hall for a moment?" I ask, tugging on his sleeve.

"I suppose." He replies, as if he has a choice.

Once we are out of the room, I let him have it. "How can you possibly let this happen? He's just a boy! He's only been a Death Eater for – what – ten minutes? And now he's assigned to kill the second most powerful wizard after our Lord? Lucius–"

He cuts in. "Cissy, I don't see why you're fussing over this. He's worked his whole life for this opportunity. It's an honor. Our Lord trusts him to do such a deed. Don't you understand what this means for him? For our family?"

"You're giving him a death sentence." I hiss. "He's just a boy!"

"Let's go back. I don't want Draco to see us fighting. This should be a _happy_ day." He orders.

We walk back as if nothing had happened. All of a sudden, Bellatrix apparates into the room.

"Ah-ha-ha! Well I heard the news and I just had to come by. Atta boy Draco! Your auntie is so proud of you!" She lets out another almost drunken laugh.

"Excuse me, Bellatrix, but I don't recall inviting you." I state in a courteous, yet stern voice.

"Pleasure to see you too Cissy, but I'm talking to Draco." She turns and addresses Draco directly. "Now, Draco, we must begin your training. You will learn from the best." She gestures toward Lucius and herself. "It's not like you learn any useful magic at that school," she spits out in disgust.

"Bella. Hall. Now." My decibel heightens through gritted teeth. She takes her time following me out of the room.

"Why are you doing this?" I beg in a flat tone.

"Doing what? I don't seem to understand. I'm just celebrating this glorious day." She sighs with pleasure.

"Do whatever you want to me but don't get my son involved," I plead.

"Ever consider that maybe this isn't part of your punishment? Draco does have free will. Even if you don't." Her tone becomes airy.

"Bella, this isn't like hexing first years. This is serious. Draco is in serious danger. This is just a game to you. I can't allow my son to become apart of it. I c – can't lose him."

"Well, blimey, Narcissa, I thought you'd be a bit happier about this. Draco was _chosen_." She is clearly feeding off my desperation.

"He's my boy. He's all I've got. I can't lose him. No, not like this." Tears begin to well up. I've been fighting them for too long.


	4. December 1971

_Author's note: I sincerely appreciate the reviews! I've had the basic skeleton of this story thought out for a while and many chapters are introductory and just give supporting information to my underlying concept. I was utterly nervous starting this because J.K. Rowling is such a brilliant author and it is difficult to jump into the world she has created and write something that actually sounds good. I'm making progress through trial and error and after I sumbit each chapter, I think of ways to improve it. I'd rather not spend a month on each chapter, though, because I'd love for people to be able to read what I am writing! It's also a challenge as an American writer to make this sound accurate to the British dialects of the characters. I chose to not Americanize the story, though, because I want people to think of this as a story that can go alongside what Jo has written. I know that every character has an intricate back story and I am attempting to unfold Narcissa's. _

Pressure. Confusion. High expectations. Sadness. Feeling lost. Feeling alone. Feeling like no one understands you. I must be a teenager. I'm sixteen years old but my future is already decided for me. I will marry a pure blood. I will partake in the Dark Arts. I will have children. I will be wealthy. I will be notorious. I will be proud. And I won't be able to make a single decision for myself. Sometimes during a sleepless night, I will wander through the empty corridors and ultimately end up in the library. I will select a book at random and read about wizards who had it differently. Wizards who chose their own destiny. Wizards who made a difference. After my encounter with Sirius, I realized that I do have no backbone. I'm afraid. I'm just a girl. I'm only sixteen. What am I to do? Without my family, I'll have nothing, no one. I just can't do it. I don't deserve to be in Slytherin. I'd much rather find myself sobbing alone in the library, rather than embarrassing myself in front of the other girls in my dormitory. They have it all put together. They have it all figured out. _Their last name isn't Black_. I have a reputation to uphold. I can't just be a mess in front of them. I can't show weakness, vulnerability.

I hear footsteps creep up behind me. I vigorously wipe my sleeve on my eyes. "Who do we have here?" asks a deep, husky voice.

Oh no. Caught out of bed in the middle of the night. The last thing I want right now is a detention. But who could it be? It's not a voice I recognize, but I better not leave it to chance. I immediately turn around in my seat. "Sorry err –" The room is only illuminated by an oil lamp on a wooden table a few feet away from me. I can barely make out his face. He is no teacher though. He looks my age, perhaps older. My eyes meet his, round, hazel, and tired, very tired. My lips curl a bit, genuine, not forced. The demons flush out of my head and I am left gawking at this stranger. His mousy brown hair is tousled in a way that makes me ponder for a few moments if I am dreaming. I stand and extend a fragile hand. "Narcissa Black."

He tilts his head ever so slightly. "And what brings you here on this fine evening, Narcissa Black?"

Oh gosh. Is he a prefect? The haze of a dream crashes. Maybe he'll let me off with a warning. Five points from Slytherin and an order to go back to bed. His eyebrows furrow as he notices my panicked expression. "You seem tense. Everything alright?"

"Yeah, I – err – like to come down here to – err – think." A shaky voice replies, hoping to not sound to suspicious.

"Really?" He lets out an inaudible chuckle. "So do I. Isn't it just so peaceful in the library at night?" He begins to drift off.

"So," I cut in, "what's your name?"

"Callum," he says with a smile, "pleasure."

"Why haven't I seen you around before, Callum?" My tone unwillingly turns flirty. I try to mask it with a bit of mystery.

"Well I've seen you before Narcissa. I know someone as alluring and popular as you wouldn't notice a guy like me."

I blush. How could I have missed someone as dashing and charming as Callum? "W–what house are you in?" my voice cracks.

"Hufflepuff. Seventh year." His voice is proud, but not arrogant.

I can't believe that that is what people think of me. I'm that stuck-up, unapproachable, Slytherin girl. I hate myself for that. I wish I could start over, be someone else. Someone without a notorious last name. Someone whose path wasn't chosen for her. I hate that this is who my family has made me into. I don't want to be superior. Why did it take me sixteen years to realize this?

Instead of screaming, I take out all of my fury and frustration by grabbing Callum and passionately kissing him. Although taken by surprise, he doesn't withdraw. It's foolish since we met minutes ago, but it feels right. Love is beautiful rebellion.

We spend the night together in the library. Afterwards, I end up telling him everything about my life and my family. He holds me close and consoles me, but most importantly, he listens. He's the first person I can be vulnerable around yet still feel comfortable. He shares a thing or two about his past. I do less than shrug my shoulders when he tells me his parents are Muggles. Everything feels so right, so unreal. As morning draws closer, we kiss goodbye, depart to our dormitories, and return to reality. A reality where I sit in the Great Hall like royalty and out of the corner of our eyes, we catch glimpses at each other from across the room. Because neither of us is really ready for too much of a change.


End file.
